Baby Boomer Babbling-er-Musings

I'm from the baby boomer generation. I have a mop of white hair, courtesy of my gene pool. And a botox-free face that sports frown lines in the forehead and around the eyes. Love handles instead of a waistline. Can't say I'm exactly crazy about any of these old age indicators but I accept them with grace. And now I've lived long enough now that I ponder on a lot of things, new and old.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Brothers & Sisters = Love and Thorns in the Side

Today I am thankful for my only sibling - my baby brother - Garry.  In our mother’s last years we became a team to lovingly care for her until her life on this earth was over on March 5th of this year.  During our childhood and adult years, both Garry and I had seen families (including our own) sometimes splinter and fracture over family funerals and their aftermath.  I am so proud to say that Garry and I stood together - once again as a team - to make it through the difficult task of handling Mama’s funeral and estate without disagreement.  I will be forever thankful to him for that.

New Arrival   I am also thankful that when I think of my childhood, he is there in my memories.  I still remember climbing up on the rail of his baby bed, peering down at that tiny four-day-old baby boy, and wondering to myself what all the fuss was about.  You see when he came home from the hospital, he was responsible for redirecting the path of my little life.  His mission, if he decided to accept it (and he did) was to make sure I did not become a spoiled, only child who was the center of attention of both her parents.  Um, thanks, Garry.  (Wink)

New Baby Brother
Dollies   One summer day when Garry was a cute little two-year-old with a mop of cotton-colored hair, I realized that he was the exact same size as my life-sized doll.  Barricading both of us on our screened-in porch, away from Mama’s ears, I proceeded to force my new live wriggly doll (Garry) into a pretty pink doll’s dress.  It was a perfect fit on a crying baby boy.  Although I tried to hold him down, he eventually ran to Mama for rescue.  To this day, he loves to tell this story and say that it damaged his psyche.  I beg to differ.  I think he would have turned out the way he is no matter what. (Wink, Wink)
Me and my life-size doll
A Thorn in My Side!    On another morning when Garry was about 8 years old, we were standing together in front of an antique dresser mirror.  He had recently become fixated with looking at himself in the mirror.  Being taller I stood behind him, looking over his head as I combed my hair.  He picked up a comb with an impish grin on his face and began slowly running the comb through his blond hair in greatly exaggerated movements.

Out of the blue he said, “I sure am good looking."  Then his blue eyes stared at my brown ones in the mirror as he continued without a beat.  "What happened to you?  Are you sure you aren’t adopted?”  I was so mad that steam must have been coming out my ears.  He just laughed and with even more conviction began to tell me all the reasons that he was sure I was adopted.

A few days later Mama caught me rummaging around in the dresser drawers in her bedroom.  “What are you looking for?” 

“My adoption papers.  I know I am adopted.” 

Mama laughed right out loud and told me I most certainly was NOT adopted.  “It’s okay, Mama.  I know I’m adopted and it is okay.  You can show me the adoption papers.” 

It took me a long time to accept that I was not adopted and Mama wasn’t trying to protect me from the “truth”.  Bummer.  I thought it would be cool to be adopted and also it would explain what Garry had pointed out.

Touche, Baby Brother.  I received my payback for that pink dress.  But you have to admit, you were cute!

Now I must lick my finger and with gusto draw an imaginary check mark in the air for my side.  These days Garry doesn’t have enough hair to run a comb through. 

I love you, Garry B!

Me and my brother

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